


Remote Places

by inelegantly (Lir)



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Canon Compliant, First Time, M/M, Miscommunication, Non-Romantic Sexual Content, Pre-Canon, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1798999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lir/pseuds/inelegantly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ging is Kaito's inspiration to be a hunter, both as the mentor he looks up to and as the man who has led him to so many breathtaking, heretofore undiscovered parts of the world. After their triumphant arrival at the remote outpost of archaeological research they have pushed themselves to reach, it doesn't seem at all unreasonable for Ging to become - even if for only one single occasion - someone Kaito happens to kiss as well as trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remote Places

**Author's Note:**

> This is more or less written for Nausica, because she tweeted [this joke](http://puu.sh/9wZU4/743a651aea.png) about Ging and Kite's first time and I found myself unable to resist making it a reality. What follows is a really nonromantic, awkward first time. I headcanon that Kite was about fifteen when he met Ging, and for this story he's about eighteen, even if both of their ages are left pretty nebulous in the prose.
> 
> I'm kind of an old!fan, so while the new anime has broken me in to using "Kite" conversationally fairly well, I found it more comfortable to use "Kaito" while writing. Hopefully that doesn't put anyone off!

-

It's almost dawn when they get to the settlement, the tightly-spaced cluster of buildings visible on the horizon even through the pre-dawn gloom. They make the best time traveling at night, when the oppressive heat of the desert fades to a more tolerable temperature. But daylight is almost upon them, and Kaito is ready to stop and rest, all the more so if he and Ging will be able to sleep on proper beds for the first time in a week. 

He's never been to this country before, but he can say that of virtually everything he's done with Ging, since being taken on as the man's apprentice. 

Ging is no stranger to the area, though. The first thing he does after they walk in through the settlement's rudimentary wicker arch of a gate, is to stroll into the largest, low-slung building of the lot. There's a woman behind a desk inside, rubbing sleep from her eyes before catching sight of Ging. When her gaze settles on him, her face immediately brightens. She produces a key for him from an old, tarnished ring in short order. 

Ging doesn't stick around to socialize with her. That's never been his way. As soon as he's staged his reunion and gotten what he'd come in for, he leads Kaito back out into the grimy gray of dawn, trusting without hesitation that his student will follow. Beyond the long building serving as a sort of public office, an entire collection of smaller, round buildings huddle together. Ging heads for one of their number. 

Once he unlocks it, a look through the doorway reveals the dim interior of a one-room hut. There is a single dusty pallet laid directly on the floor, and a small table against the opposite wall bracketed by two spindly chairs. At the back of the room there are a few awkwardly-shaped cabinets and what Kaito hopes is a sink. There is no sign of an indoor toilet, or any means of bathing. It's still better than sleeping out on the red desert rock. 

They've still made it all the way to the outpost they'd come to see. 

The victorious feeling that rises in Kaito's chest is sudden and unexpected, comprised of equal parts relief and pride in reaching their goal. They're here, even if here is the middle of nowhere in a technologically-bereft country, and it only took them two weeks of trekking over rugged, punishing terrain and through miserable weather. Kaito steps into the hut behind Ging, and for the first time in weeks, is able to shrug off his long coat and leave it draped over the back of a chair, rather than pulling it across his own gangly limbs in lieu of a blanket. 

"We're here," he says, more to hear it than as a declaration to Ging. 

Ging at least dignifies the comment with a grin, with an expression that could be taken as approval and agreement. He's slinging off the bulky pack from his shoulders, the one that's carried half of their supplies for the full month they've been traveling. They restocked when they could, but for the most part, their two packs have been the entirety of their lives. Those bags contain every worldly belonging that matters to them. 

Ging drops his bag on the small table, and holds out his hand for Kaito's. The situation is suddenly startlingly domestic – here they are, in a space Ging at least finds familiar, cozy with furniture as they put away their things. Having a home had never been a central-stage feature of Kaito's childhood, and since getting involved with Ging, that hasn't changed much. They rarely stay in one place. For a moment, he feels far more emotional than even he thinks must be merited. 

"You made it," Ging agrees, that grin going lopsided as one corner of his mouth tugs up further than the other. He's a handsome man, always has been, and the moments when he appears pleased, happy, are the ones that make the fact most clear. "Didn't fall behind or anything." 

Kaito finds himself smiling back, an expression almost broad enough to be described as a grin itself. He'd never been one for open displays of affection in his younger years, but he's just so happy with their success and Ging happens to bring that sort of emotional reaction out of him. 

He's still standing all of two paces from Ging, close from when he handed Ging his pack. Ging nudges it a bit farther onto the table, getting both of the bags shoved up against the wall on the table's other side, and takes a step closer to Kaito. One moment he's just standing there, looking pleased to be in some approximation of civilization, and in the next he's leaning past the slim remaining gap between his face and Kaito's. 

Kaito has gotten so used to his teacher that even after being gun-shy as a child, likely to flinch away from any invasion of his personal bubble, he's now so permissive of Ging. It doesn't begin to occur to him to move away. 

Ging kisses him, and the move has a bit of the triumphant energy permeating the room caught up in it. That's more or less how Kaito would have expected Ging to kiss – with a steady firmness to it, an underlying enthusiasm, and no concern for whether or not the gesture is going to be reciprocated. And there's no need for him to worry. Kaito is feeling the shift in the mood, his mouth shifting against Ging's in mirror to the press of his mentor's lips. Even when he kisses back, Ging effortlessly keeps the lead. 

That, too, is how Kaito might have expected Ging to kiss, if it were something he'd already chosen to dedicate some consideration to. 

Each additional brush of Ging's mouth is certain and coaxing, their first few relatively chaste kisses quickly giving way to faster, open-mouthed meetings of lips, and then tongues. Ging isn't exactly a patient man, one of his hands holding Kaito at the join of his shoulder and neck as he thrusts his tongue into Kaito's mouth. Kaito keeps his hands to himself, mostly because he doesn't want to hold Ging at the waist, or around the shoulders, like a girl might do. 

When Ging pulls away far enough to breathe, he finds it doesn't matter, because he's breathing heavily enough that his shortness of breath disrupts his dignity just as much as as falling into a clinging posture might have done. He'd hardly noticed how he has started to work up, focused as he was on the dry texture of Ging's lips, on the effort of keeping up with the insistent insinuation of Ging's tongue. 

"We have a mattress," Ging points out, charming as ever. "We could use it." 

It's forward, but hardly out of place. It's not as if Ging is a stranger, after all the months and months they have been working together, training together, and it's not as if they haven't become close. Kaito doesn't make that distinction lightly – there are few people in the world he considers himself close to, and Ging is one of those few he does happen to trust. Ging is his teacher, his mentor, and while he doesn't usually look at Ging in a prurient way, the willingness is there. 

"Yeah," he says, a moment later than is truly smooth, the uneven rhythm of his breath forcing him onto a delay. "We could do that." 

Ging grins again, that infectious look that never does mean well for anything, and dives back in to kiss Kaito again. He's quick and unrelenting, the press of his mouth increasingly rough, rather than just firm. He has the intensity of a storm, coming on hard enough that his attempts to guide Kaito back toward the mattress are met with little resistance. Kaito has no need to fight; he gave his agreement, in his way. When Ging bears him down to the pallet, his knees give willingly, his arms reaching out to catch and support himself, rather than letting himself go completely sprawling. 

He's fine with being the one on his back, he finds. A position that in other situations would make him feel cornered, trapped, proves entirely comfortable. The thin mattress is softer than he might have expected, certainly softer than the insistent edge of Ging's kisses, and he sprawls there willingly before hooking one of his legs up around the back of Ging's thigh. His heel catches against Ging's leg, and he pulls Ging forward against him. 

The space inside the hut is no longer quite so dim, early morning light starting to filter through the building's single window. It's warm, too, the desert heat still clinging to the stone floor and still hovering as a tangible thing on the room's air. Kaito has been warm all the time since they've come to this country, utterly unwilling to part with his long sleeves and full-length pants, keeping even his coat because when night falls, sometimes he does need it. He's hot with Ging leaning over him, with Ging breathing his hot breath into Kaito's mouth. His chest dampens with sweat along the line of his sternum, and his shirt sticks to it and clings there. 

It's not exactly romantic, the increasing desperation rising in their kisses, the way Kaito does slide his arms around Ging's shoulders, uses his leg to pull Ging closer when the man might otherwise choose to linger an arm's span away. Ging's free hand travels up the line of Kaito's side, traversing only as far as the bottom of Kaito's ribs, only as low as the topmost bony point of Kaito's hipbone. His fingers find the hem of Kaito's shirt and slide underneath, skating ticklishly over his stomach with a proprietary touch. 

It's not a mystery what their agreed-upon end goal is, either, nor is it surprising when thorough kisses and a teasing touch are enough to have Kaito's cock hardening in his pants. It shouldn't be surprising to Ging, especially with Kaito's groin pressed close along his hip, but the first roll of Kaito's hips up in seeking friction is followed immediately by a sharp exhale of Ging's breath into Kaito's mouth. He pulls back the moment after. 

"Oh, fuck," he says, from where he's sat up on his heels. 

His tone is too conversational, not startled or angry enough to put Kaito on edge. And Ging isn't the sort of man to wade in mid-way only to suffer second thoughts about the wisdom, or the morality, of something he'd chosen to do. He's going to follow through, because as deep as they are, it might as well be a challenge. Ging isn't someone who backs down from challenges. 

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asks. 

Kaito genuinely cannot deduce what the hell Ging is talking about. 

"Tell you what?" he suffers himself to ask, not liking the experience of his own confusion but not about to wait for Ging to explain in his own time. 

"That you have a dick," Ging says. 

Kaito thinks, but doesn't say, that he assumed it was completely obvious. He wasn't so young when he met Ging as to have that childish look where boys aren't always distinguishable from girls. If he'd been female, he would have had curves and breasts at the time, would have had them by now, it being years more after the fact. 

Ging pulls away, standing up from where he'd come to sprawl with Kaito on the mattress. It occurs to Kaito, but doesn't quite process, that Ging could be leaving. As hilariously improbable as it seems, it could be the case that Ging has believed him a woman for the duration of their acquaintance. It's true that Kaito has never found need to pull out his cock and show it to Ging, or even to strip down enough to make his lack of breasts entirely obvious, but it also isn't as if doing so felt like something that should ever be necessary. 

Strange as the thought is, it could be the case that Ging is backing down due to the realization that Kaito doesn't have – of all things – the parts he wants to make use of. 

More than anything, Kaito feels irritated that Ging has left off from something they were doing together with no word of his intentions at all (not that behavior of the sort was anything new for the man). He watches Ging go over to their bags on the table, watches Ging dig through his, all without deciding on the words he wants to voice in complaint. The part of him that has evaluated how Ging could be walking out reminds him that whatever he wants to say, he may have a limited time frame in which to offer it.

Ging comes back over to the mattress, a small tube in his hand. "Okay," he says. "I have this under control. We're good." 

It's the point when Kaito fully processes, glancing at the lube and the look on Ging's face, that Ging truly and unmistakably wants to fuck him. 

The knowledge settles low in his gut, concentrating into a steady heat that radiates up along his spine, that pools low in his groin and spreads. Ging's delay hasn't been enough for his erection to wither any; he's still hard and Ging is still taking far too much time, going as always on his own schedule rather than considering what anybody else might happen to need. He hooks his foot out again, catching it against Ging and urging him forward. 

Kaito's hands are at the fly of his pants, quickly undoing the fastenings, his hips arching up as he pushes the waistband down past them. He doesn't actually need to tell Ging that any further leisurely dawdling isn't what he wants. It's clear that the stakes have changed – his pants have come off, kicked aside as soon as he got them low enough, and his underwear along with the pair. For someone who'd neglected to consider the finer points of having sex with a man, Ging doesn't appear put off at all by finally getting an eyeful of Kaito's dick. 

He doesn't do anything about it, either, selfish to the end. Even without the experience to speak from, Kaito thinks a helping hand might be the gentlemanly thing to offer. Just a brief touch, a stroke or two, a kindness in the face of the fact that his partner has needs too. But no, Ging is focused on the end goal. The intensity with which he stares at Kaito's asshole, his hand pressed against the inside of Kaito's thigh, is almost enough to give Kaito pause. 

The lube uncaps with a pop, that single sound coming like a gunshot in the quiet of the room. 

"Not really one for foreplay, are you?" Kaito asks. 

The words have the added benefit of startling the intent look off of Ging's face, transforming him from conqueror back to concerned friend. Kaito allows for the possibility that it's concern, when Ging frowns slightly, looks almost sympathetic. "Do you want to do this yourself?" 

"Not really," Kaito says. He leans back again, all the way down, letting himself lie flat on the mattress. "Go ahead." 

He can't see Ging's hands any more, not without straining his neck. That's fine. He can hear when Ging squeezes the tube, can discern the wet sound of slick fluid squirting into Ging's palm. He watches Ging's face instead of Ging's hands, as that single-minded look of purpose smooths across his teacher's features. Of course Ging would wear that face for stretching someone with his fingers, just as he does for every new discovery he makes, for every new challenge he takes on. 

Ging's fingers are cool against his skin as they run between his asscheeks. Kaito tilts his head back, watches the ceiling instead of Ging's face. He'd rather Ging touch him. It isn't as if he's ever done this to himself before. 

Ging is the one who makes a little hiss between his teeth, not Kaito, when he slides his first finger in. There's another new discovery for him – he's broken new ground in learning that Kaito's ass is claustrophobically tight. He can feel the twist and slide of Ging's finger moving, intimately exploring. He makes the mistake of scanning Ging's face again, watches Ging's look of concentration as he puzzles out the means of playing Kaito's body to his own best advantage. 

If nothing else, he's thorough. He doesn't rest until he's dragged his fingertips against every buried part of Kaito, touching until he finds the trick of getting Kaito to gasp and pant as he tips his head back against the mattress. His chin is up, throat barred, offering an undeniable pose of submission. Ging doesn't take it, doesn't even acknowledge it, all but ignores Kaito's reactions until he's fit the entire spade shape of his hand into Kaito right up to the third knuckle and until Kaito's cock has drooled an entire glistening pool of precome to smear across his stomach. 

When Ging pulls his fingers back out, he pulls Kaito's breath with them, an entire long exhale that feels ripped from his body. Kaito needs that moment – to breathe, to process. It doesn't serve him for long. 

Ging is back in his face, his arm braced beside Kaito's head while his other hand trails slickly down the inside of Kaito's thigh. That's his moment of warning. Ging pushes into him without fanfare, his hand going under Kaito's ass to help pull them flush. There's a just-audible slap as their hips connect; Kaito echoes it with a gasp he doesn't mean to make. He can't see the ceiling any more, just Ging's dark eyes, just Ging's mouth with its determined set. His eyelids flutter a little, right in front of Kaito's face, before he breathes in deep. 

He doesn't give Kaito a moment to catch his breath. 

Kaito has seen Ging fight, has glimpsed that sketchy indication of the extent of his endurance, has seen staggering demonstrations of his strength. He sees it again as Ging's hips roll against him, each thrust firm, quick, the pace Ging sets proving absolutely unrelenting. The sound of Ging's breathing, hard but miraculously even, is a comforting constant. It's punctuated with Kaito's gasps, with the low groan he utters before his long legs curl around Ging's hips and pull. 

He can take whatever Ging has to give. It's just one more way to prove himself. His back presses into the mattress with how heavily Ging's weight bears down on him, his leg hooked behind Ging's hips doing its best to help guide the pace. Ging doesn't slow, doesn't yield, and Kaito isn't good enough to read him. He can't tell how affected Ging is, doesn't know how to judge when Ging is close. He doesn't have any obvious tell that Kaito can work out. He ceases trying, focuses instead on the feeling of being stretched and filled, on the way his muscles strain, on the sound of the gasps that he can't stop from making. 

He's surprised when Ging finishes, not taking the low grunt for what it is until he realizes Ging has stopped moving, until he processes that Ging is starting to pull out. It's only Kaito's clutching grasp and entwined limbs keeping him close. 

Kaito relaxes, his heels settling back to the floor and his arms dropping to rest above his head. Ging pulls away just enough to lean back on his hands and catch his breath, looking disheveled and satiated. He's still handsome; his pupils are still blown unbelievably wide. Kaito is still hard, aching almost to the point of pain, and he slides one hand down to wrap around his cock and quickly stroke. It's reflexive at first, jerking himself off while Ging watches him without seeing anything or appreciating the show. When he comes, too fast, he realizes that Ging wasn't going to finish getting him off even if he'd waited. 

He's a mess, flat on the mattress with thighs trembling and his come spattered up his chest. Ging has only just tucked himself back into his pants. 

"We should get some rest," Ging says, awkwardly, his voice even enough but the words themselves sounding out of place. 

They have work to do in the morning; there isn't time for some lengthy acknowledgment of the sex they've had or whether it has any enduring meaning. Kaito wouldn't know what to say if Ging did want to talk. 

Ging fetches him a cloth from their bags to wipe himself clean with, and it's the one thing Ging has done that feels intimate. Kaito is sure to take it and clean himself up before Ging can offer any other help. He doesn't think Ging would have cleaned him off, but he isn't certain he wants to find out otherwise.

It turns out the mattress isn't quite wide enough for two people to sleep comfortably apart, and there's only the one. Kaito spends the entire day pressed back against Ging's chest. 

The facsimile of closeness is preferable to sleeping on the floor. 

-

-


End file.
